^,1'J'A I'l' t* I 'jc fv'ok"';!!,;!.'. V>i>"HT 



i.>tV 



^Miii 



m 






,^'.V'< 1 «;,«,:« ;,f,i^'li:« 









■■J- 

^1 



Vb t,i> ;"k : 







LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

■'^3 15^% 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 




4?' 







■Ay< 



r'-^'t. 



Ye Last Sweet Tkmg in Corners 



Ye Faithful Drama 



of 



Ye Artists' V^^idetta 





Duncan & Hall, 
Publishers. 

Ph IL ADELPHIA. 



/ 



i 






COPYFIGHT BY 

DUNCAN ft HALL, PHILADELPHIA 

1880 

[All rights reserved] 



^■ EPISTLE DEDICATORY. 



^ 



My Dear Lord Dufferin : 

May I dedicate this little play to you in remembrance oj 
the many happy hours at Rideau bearing especially in mind 
all that is associated with that never-to-be-forgotten night 
when your Epilogue was spoken — 

"Andoft at home when Christmas fire-logs burn 
Our pensive thoughts instinctively will turn 
To this fair city "with her crown of towers. 
And all the joys and/riends that once were ours. 
And o/t shall yearning fancy fondly fill 
This hall with guests , and conjure up at will 
Each dear familiar face, each kindly word — " 

Faithfully, 

THE AUTHOR. 
Philadelphia, Christmas, 1880. 



TIME— To-day. PLACE— A. Conundrum. 

ACT I. 
Thk Plot — In a. Studio, 

ACT II. 

High Art — In a Barn. 

ACT III. 
Home — In a Cottage, 



DRAMATIS FERSON^. 

RAPHAEL GAMBOGE A Painter. 

IL BACIO MODDLE A Sculptor. 

BAROUCHE BROWN. An Art Critic. 

DR. SAM FLOYD An Unemotional Physician. 

NA THANIEL BOBBIN An Enthusiast in Soap. 

ALFRESCO DADO ] 

MAUD CASHMERE BOUQUET. \- Daughters to Brown. 

CONSUELA RENAISSANCE J 

MISS ALHAMBRA FRIEZE Their High-Church Friend. 

MISS CAIRNGORM A Woman Reporter. 

ANGELICO BEN. CEL. BAXTER. . . Colored page to the Browns. 
COSETTES' ANKLES . . (Cosette being Brown's meek handmaiden.) 
BILL B VLES An Angel in the oyster business. 

CRICKET A BIT OF EGG SHELL CHINA. 

GRASSHOPPER An Egyptian Mummy, 

STUMPS. An Old Greek Marble. 

POLICEMEN, CONNOISSEURS, ETC. 



ACT I. THE PLOT. 

Scene I. — The Studio. 

Enter Raphael Gamboge, excitedly holding a newspaper in his 
hand. 

Gamboge. I don't mind the fellow making an infernal fool of 
himself as long as some other idiot can be found to pay him 
twenty dollars a column for it, but I wish to heaven he would 
make an ass of himself on some other subject than Art ! Was ever 
such a lot of rubbish palmed off on an unsuspecting public ! 
\^Reads.'\ " There is an indefinable something which steals upon 
the beholder, a lack of symphonic treatment, so to speak — a sub- 
tle idea — er-ei- — that is to say — aw — he — in fact he does not grasp 
his subject boldly, and there is a lack of a sense of vacancy about 
his sky, as it were, that seems to express, clumsy handling — Ah-h 
-h ! The Old Masters ! They were the glorious fellows." D — n 
the Old Masters ! If I had this ill-conditioned mule in the open 
air, I'd let him know pretty precious quick if I could not handle a 
subject boldly and give him such a sense of vacancy, regarding 
the sky, as would send him home on a shutter ! 
Enter Moddle. 

Moddle. Halloo, Gam, how is things ? Somehow you don't 
look happy ! Oh, ah, you've been reading the Fog Whistle, have 



8 Ye Last Sweet Thing in Corners. 

you ? I thought you had sworn off on reading criticisms ! I 
would smile at such rot — smile philosophically, Gam. 

Gamboge. Teach me your philosophic smile, will you? So you 
have seen his notice of your Jephtha's daughter?" 

Moddle. No ! where ? what does he say ? 

\^Takes the paper from Gamboge and reads.'] 

Moddle [in a rage]. Why hang this idiotic drivel ! He has 
mixed me up with another man. \_Staps the paper furiously .] Here 
he says my Jephtha's daughter looks like a pickle-eating graduate 
of the public school, a cadaverous female that ought with my 
Bacchus to make a pair — (my Bacchus !) exhibited last year at the 
Academy, which had the appearance of being modeled from Pork 
and after re-named Jack Spratt and wife, the Society for the pre- 
vention of Cruelty to Animals should demand that both be ground 
to powder for the culture of cabbage — why the d — fool Chizzle 
did Bacchus. Now Gam, what the devil are you making that 
face for? 

Gamboge. I was not aware that I was making a face. I was 
watching for the first beam of your philosophic smile. 

Moddle. H'm, well you must admit that compared with myself 
he has let you down easy. But I swear — by all the Chizzles and 
chisels — animate and inanimate, I'll be even with Brown before 
snow is on the ground. 

Gamboge [seizi?ig his hand]. And I'll help you. 

[A knock is heard. ] 



Ye Last Sweet Thing in Comers. 9 

Moddle. There's some one, I'll be o-p-h— see you later. 

[_Exit Moddle, side door. 

[Gamboge, after a hasty glance about the apartment, opens door.'] 

Enter fat, over-dressed Old Lady, 7vitk over-dressed Young 

Daughter, who walk in and stare about them. 

Gamboge. How can I serve you, ladies ? 

Fat Old Lady. Can you finish my daughter in water and ile ? 

Gamboge. You wish her portrait painted, I presume, madam ? 

F. O. L. Lor' bless you no, we got three of 'em now. You 
know my man's in the provision business, and we got a painter to 
paint her likeness an' take it out in trade ; she has just left school 
an' we want her to be finished in water an' ile, an' be taught to 
criticise the paintings in the picter galleries. My man— he was 
dead sot on having the other painter feller learn her and take it 
out in trade, but Mirandy read in the paper that he didn't put the 
best French paint in his pictures an' I says to Dan, says \, " Dan'l 
you can jest as well afford to have your daughter finished in water 
an' ile as them Napthas. Bacon is as good as petroleum any day." 
I had him there, an' he gave me a check, an' I want you to make 
an A I artist of Miranda and do it reasonable. 

Miranda [tvho has been staring out of the window upon the 

street]. Oh Mar, there's the Napthas' carriage across the way and 

Eveleen has gone up stairs with her drawing book. [ Turns to 

Artist ] Why I thought you gave Miss Naptha painting lessons. 

Gamboge. No, madame, I have no pupil by that name. 



lO Ye Last Sweet Thing m Corners. 

Miranda \_folding her wrap around her'\. O dear me, mar, 
we've made a mistake, I want to take lessons of the same teacher 
Eveleen Naptha does. 

F. O. L. Laws-a-me — that's too bad ; we've got in the wrong 
place and raised your hopes, young man. Hope we haven't taken 
up your time. Mirandy, lift your dress goin' down them dirty 
stairs. [Exit. 

Gamboge [throwing himself in a chair despondently^ The same 
old story ! People think no more of an artist's time ! [A knock 
at the door.l There it goes again ; another infernal bore I'll bet 
my dinner— if I have money enough left to get it. 

[ Opens the door.'\ 

Enter the Misses Alfresco and Maud Brown, accompanied by a 
Slender Young Man sucking the end of his cane. 
Alfresco. How do you do, Mr. Gamboge? Pray don't let us 

disturb you — commune with your muse — ^just as if we were not 

here, we have only come to stay an hour or so and look at the 

pretty things. 

Gamboge. I am honored. Miss Brown. 

[Alfresco stands ift a rapture before a landscape, tneanrvhile 
Slender Young Man and Maud walk about the studio criti- 
cising audibly. '\ 
Alfresco. How sweetly pretty. Isn't it a love! I think Papa 

was severe on you in the paper this morning, but he means it for 

your good — we must not murmur at immolation on the shrine of 



Ye Last Sweet Thing in Corners. 1 1 

Art. But really, this is lovely. It makes me think of one of 
Prang's happiest bits_I think after the old masters, Papa dotes on 
Prang ; you paint in sympathy with Prang, don't you think so ? I 
am not trying to flatter you, I assure you. Those cows are elegant, 
and the tin pail in the milkmaid's hand is so true to nature ! And 
Maud, just look ! What a pre-Raphaelite effect that spot of ver- 
digris on the pail handle has ! 

Gamboge. If your father is severe, you are certainly too kind. 
Alfresco. What a clever fellow that Mors Concours is ! And 
such a hard-working person, I see his paintings in almost every 
gallery I visit. I dare say he and you are fast friends. 

Gamboge \demurely\ Oh yes, Hors Concours is a very dis- 
tinguished man. 

Maud. Don't you think, Mr. Gamboge, that the animals in your 
paintings are nearly all out of drawing? 

Gamboge \biting his lip\. I beg your pardon? 
[S. Y. M. has opened a private sketch book of studies from the 
nude— he and Miss Alfresco start back shocked.'] 
Alfresco. 0\^^^-t\ [Faintly.'] 
Maud. What is the matter, sister mine ? 

Alfresco. A sudden faintness, that is all— do not mind me, I 
shall be better presently. 

S. V. M. \jutting up his glass at Gamboge']. Mr. Gamboge, I 
am surprised at you. 

Gamboge \angrily]. Well, my dear sir, that is a private port- 



12 Ye Last Sweet Thing in Corners. 

folio, not intended for visitors' inspection ; those studies from the 
nude — 

S. V. M. l^cozigking] . Ahem ! This conversation is getting to 
too fine a point, remember, sir, there are ladies present. 

Maud [wktspering]. Why is it that artists are so immoral in 
their tendencies ? See ! [Chitchmg S. Y. M.'s arm.'] He has got 
some woman in that room. \^Poinfs to lay figure.] The horrid 
creature ! 
\_Exit Misses Brown lookhn; reproachfully and indignantly at 

Gamboge, followed by S. Y. ^., who places a tract on the artisfs 

easel.] 

Gamboge [^dejectedly]. Another hour of this would drive me 
mad. What a lovely giid that Miss Brown is to look at. What a 
pity she is such a fool. I'll get my dinner and take the taste of 
this out of my mouth. [Feels in his pockets for money.] Eighteen, 
nineteen; and here's a five cent piece, twenty-four. I must have 
another nickle somewhere — yes — no — it's a button off my light 
coat — Ah, Eureka — ten cents. By Jove, here's fortune ; thirty- 
four cents. Now for dinner a ia carte. I can get beefsteak and 
two vegetables for twenty-five cents and one beer five cents and 
have four cents left for two stamps to post Mrs. DeMontague's, 
and Thorn's bills — or I could get veal pot pie for twenty cents 
and get two beers — I'm tired of veal, I'll get mutton stew for 
fifteen cents — No I won't; the amount of mutton I've consumed 
since the exchequer has been low is simply horrible to contemplate. 
I shall be going around on four legs — and hire myself out as a 



Ve Last Sweet Thing in Corners. 1 3 

model to Verbceckhoveii. We'll have a fresh menu. I might get 
soup, ten cents ; corned-beef hash, ten cents ; sweet potatoes, five 
cents, and one beer — that's the ticket! but hold, hold my heart, 
where's my supper to come from ? I might drop in Vandyck's about 
that time — no, that won't do, I was there three days ago, and it's too 
thin — or to speak less vulgarly, it's not sufficiently opaque and it's 
hardly a week since I took a meal at his expense. Now I'll begin 
all over again. Beef's a necessity — greens a luxury, so I'll say 
beef stew, fifteen cents {they give bread with it), and one beer — 
twenty cents, ten cents left for supper and four cents for postage 
stamps — I trust to Providence for breakfast, don't give up the ship 
old fellow ! Commune with your muse ; and dine on Art ; [rnakes 
a face'\ I felt like telling Miss Brown that my muse is a coy damsel, 
that comes only to me after the studio rent is paid, that my inspir- 
ation is helped by a good dinner. Dine on Art — What rot ! \^A 
knock is heardl Oh — the deuce — who is that? \^Opens the dooj-.'] 
Enter a Motherly Person, a Young Bride, an Esthetic 

Maiden, a Woman Reporter, Brown of the Fog Whistle and 

a Child of ten years. They smile at and nod to Gamboge or 

ignore hint, and walk about the room looking at the paintings. 

Motherly Person. And so you're a painter, why where's your 
parents? 

Gamboge. They are dead, madame. 

Moth. Per. Oh, I understand. How much can you make a 
week at this business ? 

Gambosre. Well, really, madame, I — the fact is I can't say — 



14 yie Last Sweet Thing in Corners. 

Our remuneration is greater than in some professions, but it is 
often precarious — 

Young Bride. Mr. Gamboge — I don't see anything I like here. 
Can't you tell me where I can get a really good painting about 
ten by fifteen inches, to fit in a space on my wall ? 

Gamboge. You had better go to a dealer, madame, I don't 
paint for the trade. 

Child. Mr. Gamboge, the face of the girl in the hammock 
needs a little cadmium yellow, and I don't think the drapery of her 
polonaise is true to nature. 
[ Gamboge stares at Child and looks about to whistle or to swear. 1 

Woman Reporter [walking over to Gamboge, sotto voce'\. I'll 
stay till these people go, because I want you to give me some 
items for my Art article. 

Moth. Per. Have you got a good boarding-house, young man ? 

Gamboge. I — I — don't board exactly— that is I — \_breaks down"]. 

Moth. Per. \staring at the sofa^ Do you sleep here all night, 
or how ? 

Brown \_the critic']. I say Gamboge, this isn't a bad thing; is 
it a water color or a chromo ? 

Gamboge. It is — 

Esthetic Maiden \sweetly\ . Mr. Gamboge, won't you tell me 
some pretty little anecdote about the Old Masters, if you are not 
too busy now, I want to put it in my diary. 

Moth. Per. What do you have to pay for your dinner, general- 
ly speaking? 



Ye Last Sweet Thing in Corners. 15 

Gamboge IGenerally speaking this week I havenH had any din- 
ner to speak about.-] That depends on my appetite, madame. 

Young Bride. Mr. Gamboge, couldn't you give me a card to 
some dealer who would let me have a picture cheaper on account 
of my knowing you ? 

Gamboge. I fear it would not do any good, madame. 

Moth. Per. Do you generally have a good appetite, or does the 
smell of your pictures sicken you of your food ? 

Gamboge. Yes, sometimes I have no appetite for my dinner- 
[Aside, And sometimes I have no difiner for my appetite?^ 

Child. Mr. Gamboge, didn't you make that pedestal out of a 

grocery box ? 

Moth. Per. Whose child is that, any relation of yours ? 
Gamboge \_aside. Heaven forbid]. I don't know whose child it 

is. 

Moth. Per. What is it doing here ? 
Ga?nboge. That is a question I fain would ask myself. 
The Child. You need not whisper, say it out loud ; I hear you ; 
I am in pursuit of Art culture. I read the criticisms and I came 
to see if you were a true artist or a servile imitator-Were you a 
true artist you would encourage me in my thirst for Art. 

\^Exit Child, sla?twiing door. 
Gamboge iaside]. I'd like to educate her with an old slipper. 
Moth Per. I must go, now, but I shan't forget you— I know the 
way an' I'll come real often— Good bye. 

Gamboge [bowing her to the door"]. Thanks, madame. 

[Exit Motherly Person. 



1 6 Ve Last Sweet Thing m Corners. 

Brown. By the way, Gamboge, that's a neat little thing, ye 
dog and child; quite in ye Dutch spirit and feeling. How one of 
my daughters would like that for her room. Is it ordered. 

Gamboge. Yes, it is sold. \^Aside] How I wish it was. 

£ro2un. I'll tell you what I'll do. Gamboge : you paint me a 
first-rate picture, and I'll hang it up in our Queen Nancy living-room 
at my chateau ; I will, indeed. You're no genius, Gamboge, and 
you haven't much talent, but you're no drone. There's a want of 
freedom in your handling, but you're an industrious fellow and I 
v/ant to see you get on. Now you paint me some bit of sky and 
some green, or ye flock of sheep in ye thunder-storm, or ye Orien- 
tal sword dance — I leave ye motif to yourself, and if you do it 
well, I'll have your name put on ye frame. People will be sure 
to see it; we have so many visitors and it will bring you in orders. 
I'll drop in next week. Good-day and grammercy ! 

\Exit Brown. 

Young Bride. Mr. Gamboge, have you a little bit of carmine 
you don't want, just the tiniest little bit? I want to decorate an 
Etruscan vase with some Lady Washington geraniums, and I am 
too tired to go all the way down to Cobalt's to buy it. 

Gamboge \kands her a little tube\ There is a trifle of it, ma- 
dame. 

Young Bride. Oh, thanks ! I'm awfully obliged. Now, when 
you paint something real sweet I'll send some friends of mine to 
look at it. Good-bye. Wish I could stay longer, but my husband 
will be home and he is so lonely without me. \^Exit Y. B. 



Ye Last Stveet Thing in Corners. 17 

[Gamboge doses door after Young Bride, and turning around dis- 
covers Esthetic Maiden asleep on the sofa ; looks up in em- 
barrassment at the Woman Reporter, zoho is scribbling in a 
note-booki\ 

Wo7nan Reporter. I guess I've got enough for three-quarters of 
a column. Can't you help me spin it out to a column, then I'll 
get five dollars for it. 

Gamboge. If you would suggest anything, I might tell you what 
I know about it. 

Woman R. Oh, anything about artists to fill up ; any roman- 
tic incidents or cases of destitution. Is any painter going to the 
seaside or has he had an order from a rich man. Anybody in 
consumption, or going to be married, or going to Europe ? 
Gamboge. Yes, Chloral died last night. 
Woman R. Consumption ? 
Gamboge. Yes, call it consumption. 

Woman R.iscribbling'\ Goon; I've got that. I'm afraid you're 
tired. I won't keep you much longer. Tell me what sort of a 
painter Gizzard is, and I'll go. 
Gatnboge. What sort ? 

W. R. Yes, what is his style ? Tell me what I had better say 
about his last picture; I haven't seen it, but I asked Vandyck 
and Vert Green, and now you, and I guess between you I can 
strike an average. What shall I call it— French or American ? 

Gamboge. Call it Franco-American, the newspapers have not 
used that word threadbare. 



1 8 Ve Last Sweet Tiling in Corners. 

IV. Ji. You do look tired. I wonder if you don't have your 
own trouble? I do. I tell you writing for the papers is no joke, 
and don't you just earn your money. Pay's good enough, but it's 
too slow. Before I jumped into this thing of writing on Art, I 
tried everything — wax flowers, whole art in one lesson, patent pro- 
cess; then I beaded parasols and did spatter-work and decalco- 
manie for a notion house ; then I canvassed Picturesque America 
and Duplex Elliptic corsets, but I was getting into typhoid fever 
and my head was all of a whirl, and one day I was fagged out I 
got into a broker's office, where there was a lot of gentlemen, and 
I got Picturesque and the corsets all mixed up, and they thought 
I'd been drinking, but it was the fever coming on me. After that 
I was ill ten weeks ; I got in the dollar store, and there it was nip 
and tuck, I couldn't get out of debt; so I thought I'd make a 
bold strike for the Spiritualists, — "seventh daughter of a seventh 
daughter; lells family secrets ; reveals destinies ; shows husband's 
photograph ; eighth wonder of the world ; Ladies, 50 cents ; no 
Gents; ring the basement beU." I had an ad. all written out 
when I met a young fellow, foreman in printing office of the Fog 
Whistle, and says he to me, he says — why don't you write on Art, 
that's the latest dodge? O land, I says, I can't tell a chromeo 
from an Old Master. Yes, he says. Go to a second-hand shop 
and get a lot of old art catalogues by Ruskin and those fellows 
and read em up ; so it reads well, that's all the papers care. And 
so I did, and in about a month I could tell which way the cat 
jumped as well as the next owe, and I skipped out of that dollar 
store lively. I move now in tip-top society, and here I am. 



Ye Last Siveet Thing in Corners. 19 

Gatnboge. How long did you say you had been writing on Art ? 

W. R. About a year, — but I must go, you're busy, ain't you ? 

Gamboge [stnilingl. I have not had a chance to be busy. I have 
been interrupted so many times to-day. 

W. R. Haven't you had your dinner yet? Don't be offended, 
I'm right out, I am. If you're short, I can lend you a couple of 
dollars. 

Gamboge [quickly"]. No, no, but I thank you, — I mean I have 
had no time to leave my studio. 

W. R. Your wife's asleep; she believes in taking things easy; 
she's just right. 

Gatnboge. The lady is a perfect stranger to me. Would you — 
[hesitatingly'} be good enough- to wake her ? 

W. R. [shaking Esthetic Maiden] . Wake up, wake up, Mr. 
Gamboge wants to go to his dinner. 

Esthetic Maiden. Ah ! I did but dream then. Methought I 
was in the Sistine chapel in Italy. 

W. R. To be continued in our next. You had better finish 
your dream in your own boarding-house, and let this man have a 
rest. Good-bye, Mr. Gamboge ; I am much obliged. Send you a 
copy of my Art article. [Exit Woman Reporter. 

A. Maiden [calling after IV. R.]. Woman, don't leave me 
alone, and here. How indiscreet of you. Wait for me. Adieu, 
Mr. Gamboge ; forgive my discourteous haste. [Exit. 

Gamboge [solemnly.) Thank heaven, I am alone. I began to 
think I never should be {changes his coat). I am going to have a 



20 Ve Last Sweet Thing in Corners, 

new rule about visitors, either that or blow my brains out, that is 
if I have any to blow out, which I am beginning to doubt. 
Humph — Fog Whistle's impudence, I'll do him a picture when 
he pays in advance for it. The D. E. Corset canvasser is a caution 
for veterans, but she's an ornament to society compared with him. 
Wonder what Moddle wanted so all of a sudden. There he is 
now. 

Enter rough looking stranger who walks into the centre of the 
studio and stares at the artist without speaking. 

Gamboge. Did you wish to see me? 

Stranger. My name's Byles, Bill Byles, can you paint? 

Gamboge. These are my works, Mr. Byles. 

Byles \^contefnptuously\. I don't mean those jimcracks, the man 
who has done my painting work has gone to Frisco, and I thought 
may be I could get a painter feller like you, to do it well enough- 
I wanted a sign painted. Could you do it? 

Gamboge \_glancing nervously at the door']. Yes, I can paint a 
sign for you. 

Byles. Now I don't want you to put any high art ruffles in it. 
I want an oyster sign. Could you paint an oyster sign? 

Gamboge {^faintly]. Yes, I can paint an oyster sign. What 
name ? and how large is it to be ? 

Byles. No name at all — I want a border kinder fancy, of 
oysters all around it, and three plates in the middle. Could you 
paint an oyster plate ? 

Gamboge. Oh, yes. 



Ye Last Szveet Thing in Corners. 21 

Byles. Then I want you to paint on the plates, a raw, and a 
fry and a stew. Hold up, I only live a block off; couldn't I send 
you a raw and a fry and a stew every day until it is done. Don't 
you make no mistake— I won't dock it off your pay. 

Gamboge Ismiling^. Tha.nks, that would be a good idea, they 
would be of great use to me to paint from ^aside, " And to eat after- 

wards'] . 

Byles. And then in some nice, handy way, couldn't you paint 
a bottle of ketchup and some crackers and-do you think you 
could paint a plate of cold slaw ? 

Gamboge ^trying not to smile]. If you were to send the cold 
slaw I think I could manage it. 

Byles. I guess that's all; now bis is bis. What'U you take to 
paint a sign like that ? Speak out, and no gander dancing. 
Gamboge [timidly]. Would fifteen dollars be too much ? 
Byles. I'll give you twenty dollars if you do it bang up this 
week. Here's ten now-the balance on delivery. I'll send the 
lumber and oysters around in two shakes of a lamb's tail. 

Gamboge. Thank you, sir, you are very prompt. I wish all 
my patrons were the same. 

Byles. They ain't; you needn't tell me; I seed it in your face, 
quick as I came in. But I worked hard when I started in the busi- 
ness an' I can feel for a fellow who has small sales and no profits. 

"Well, so long. Be good to yourself. 

[Exit. 

Gamboge [looks at ten dollar note, puts it in his vest pocket, does 



22 Ye Last Siveet Thing in Comers. 

a caper about the room, then seats himself and laughs alouef]. 
Heaven tempers the wind to the shorn lamb. I'll never lose faith 
again; I'll ask Moddle to dine with me to-day, and to-morrow I'll 
feast on oysters. Oysterman you're a trump; the right and left 
bower and all the aces. [Knocks on the •wall.'\ 

Meddle' s voice. Halloo. 

Gamboge. Come in here, I want you. 

Noddle's voice. All right. 

Enter Moddle. 

Gamboge. Have you had your dinner ? 

Moddle. No, just going. 

Gamboge. Dine with me; I have had an unexpected streak of 
luck, only a pot-boiler, but enough for present necessities. \^Loud 
knocking at the door."] Whoever that is I'll say plump out that I 
can't stay, for I'm as hungry as fifteen bears. [^ Opens door^. 
Enter tzvo MEN, one with a large board, the other with a covered 

tray. 

ist man. Mr. Gamboge ? 

Gamboge. Yes. 

1st man. This board is for you. 

Gamboge. Put it here. 

2nd man. Is your name Gamboge ? 

Gamboge. It is. 

2d Man. This here tray of oysters is for you [places tray on 
table'\ — one box stew, one big fry, one dozen raw, crackers, ketch- 



Ye Last Sweet Thing in Corners. 23 

up, cold slaw, pepper sass, salt, pepper, mustard, knives, forks, 
spoons, plates, pumpkin pie, two pints of pale ale, — all right, sir ? 

Gamboge. All right, my fine fellow. \^aside'\ Immensely all right. 

Moddle \whistling\. You have done it, haven't you? You're 
a reckless fellow to squander your substance in this fashion. I 
did not understand that we were to dine here. 

Gamboge \aside'\. Neither did I; \to Moddle] sit down while 
its hot. Nature abhors a vacuum, at least mine does. 
[ They seat themselves. Gamboge help^ his friend plentifully. '\ 

Moddle. Here's richness. 

Gamboge. They are good. 

Moddle. Good is not strong enough. 

Gamboge. Why don't you eat ? Here now, don't leave them 
to waste. 

Moddle. Softly, Gam. I was hungry; all the same I haven't the 
stomach of an ostrich. I have been wildly impatient to tell you 
of the brilliant id^a I have conceived for paying off old Brown. 
Its something in your line — now don't say no — its just a nice job 
for both of us, especially you ; and Grasshopper and Cricket. 

Gamboge. Grasshopper and Cricket? 

Moddle. Even so, I have already talked it over with them and 
you never saw two such cases of inoculation in all your life, 
they're going into train at once. 

Gamboge. Is it a conundrum ? I hate conundrums. 

Moddle. You want to pay off old Brown, don't you ? 

Gamboge. Don't I ? 



24 Y^ Last Sweet Thing in Corners. 

Moddle. Now as we've finished our dinner, lock the door and 
let us get to our work ; you get at your sign ; I know what that 
board is for — and I have some buttons to paint for a Yankee No- 
tion house ; so that we shall not be disturbed, write a card on the 
door and say we are out of town, for a few days. 

Gamboge, Suppose we do it up in style. Here's a good sized 
card — [writes, then reads aloud\ "Gone to dine with August 
Belmont; will return in five days." How's that? 

Moddle. A stroke of genius. 

Gamboge. Now what are you going to do with Brown — he was 
here to-day. Curse his impudence. 

Moddle. I am going to marry his daughter. 

Gamboge. Are you, indeed ? 

Moddle. I am, and you shall marry his daughter. 

Gamboge. Oh, shall I ? The same one ? 

Moddle. No, her sister. 

Gamboge. Thank you, that is certainly a less startling way of 
putting it. Much obliged ; small favors thankfully received, etc., 
you know the rest. But what's the plot ? 

Moddle. You know Brown's craze for objets d'art, as he calls 
them? 

Gamboge. Slightly. 

Moddle, And you may have caught a glimpse of his daughters' 
passion for the mediaeval? 

Gamboge. Rather. 

Moddle. And you have heard that the family " collect." 



Ye Last Sweet Tiling in Corners. 25 

Gamboge. A few. 

Moddle. And you know they live in a barn ? 

Gamboge. No, by Jove, I didn't. That's the latest news from 
the seat of war is it, well? 

Moddle. Briefly then, you and I and our upstairs familiars must 
play a practical joke on them — you have the gift of gab — 

Gamboge. Thank you. 

Moddle. So you must be Dr. Bric-a-brac, a great collector. I 
will be your friend, an authority on old china, by name, Claude 
Kaolin ; we visit them with a cart load of curios — which I am 
sure two ingenious fellows as you and I — ahem — ought to be able 
to contrive. We will make them lively curiosities you know, and 
astonish the Browns, somewhat ; Grasshopper, Cricket and Stumps, 
you know, who will make the rafters of that barn ring — then in 
the midst of it we'll trump-up a charge against Brown for receiv- 
ing stolen goods, and two mock policemen shall arrest the whole 
family. We in propria pe^soncB appear in the nick of time — " The 
Rescue," " The Betrothal," and bless you my children and ring 
down the curtain to waltz time — Eh ? 

Gamboge. It will take some thinking. 

Moddle. And more talking. A few yards of rubber cloth, some 
pins and some good accidents of color, and we can make any- 
thing in the market from a giant in Satsuma to a mummy in old 
Bronze. 

Gamboge. Success to your plan. 

Moddle. Our plan, if you please. 



26 Ye Last Sweet Thing in Corners. 

Gamboge. Success to our plan, then, here's to our future bride 
and brother-in-law, and confusion to their dad. 

[ They touch the empty glasses. ] 

End of Act I. 



ACT II. HIGH ART-IN THE BARN BEAUTIFUL. 
Scene \.-Interior of a barn, in the suburbs of a city, appointed 
in the Eastlake, Rococo, Mediccval, Queen Nancy style; the 
Misses Alfresco Dado and Maud Cashmere Bouquet Brown, 
seated at embroidery and pottery painting ; two ankles of their 
handmaiden COSETTE appear beneath the portiire which divides 
the culinary department from the "living roomr Incidental 
music during this act, by CosETTE, addicted to smashing dishes ; 
an inquisitive rooster, a crow, and a cow in the distance. 

Enter Miss Alhambra Frieze. 
Alhambra. I had such a time to find your house— barn— cha- 
teau. I mean. I am so glad to see you. How perfectly exquisite 
your new home is. It \^ just charming. It makes me think of 
dear, darling Italy. 

Alfresco \,kissing her in rapture\ You're just one naughty girl 
for not coming to us before. 

Maud. Indeed you are. We have been pining to see you. We 
have so much to tell you. 

Alfresco. I knew you would like our house. Is not this a sym- 
phony in homes ? {.Music by Cosette and the cow. ] 
Alhambra. I have been neglectful, but I am coming real often 
now. What a little paradise! So esthetic ! so artistic ! It makes 
me think of a grand chord in one of Wagner's hymns or a poem 
by Browning. Don't you feel as if you were in heaven ? 



28 Ye Last Sweet Tiling in Corners. 

Alfresco. Yes, Alhambra, we are sweetly tranquil \noise of wash- 
ing dishes is heard behind the medicBval hangings'\ ; our lives are 
as simple and primitive as the ancient Greeks. No bustle, no din 
of the hollow world [CosETTE smashes a plate'\, no bickerings no 
heart-burnings, such as are felt by those who live a fashionable 
life, do we know. We revel in the art works of the mighty Past. 
We commune daily with the spirits of the masters of the Middle 
Ages. Oh, how I wish it were the Middle Ages now, Alhambra. 
But we are cheerful ; we do not repine ; but patiently hope that 
the time may come when something worthy the name of Art shall 
be done in this, our own country. Cosette, our maid ; Angelico 
Benvenuto Cellini, our page, attend to our wants, which are few 
and simple. At night we gather about our sacred tripod and papa 
reads to us his criticisms, or from some fragmentary paper he may 
have written during the day to elevate American Art. 

Alha7nbra. Your embroidery is too lovely for anything. Is it 
your own design ? 

Alfresco. Yes, that is to say, almost my own design. I got it in 
part from a funeral pall of the Elizabethan age. I am going to 
have it made up for a window bench, if in the neighborhood I can 
find a carpenter with a feeling for his business. Even now Ben- 
venuto is looking for one for me. 

Alhambra. What a lovely bust! And how beautifully that tor- 
chon lace ruffle looks around its neck ! 

Alfresco. I am glad you like it, dear. It is a genuine antique. 
That is just the corner for a bust — the toned white of the marble 



Ye Last Sweet Thing in Corners. 29 

against the blue necktie sympathizes with our rather severe scheme 
of color, papa thinks. 

Enter A. B. C. Baxter, the page. 

Alfresco. Speak, Benvenuto. 

Ben [grinning']. Couldn't fin' no Midinville carpenter, Mis' 
Frisker, dar ain't none ob dat ar in de town. 

Alfresco. You have not searched diligently. Go, ask at the post 
office. 

Ben. I dun went dar. 

Alfresco. Did you inquire at the mill ? 

Bmt. Yes, Mis' Frisker, an de miller's wife said she nebber 
heard ob no mechanic ob dat style. 

Alfresco. Oh, the ignorance of the masses ! I told you to say 
of the Middle Ages. 

Ben. Yes, Mis' Frisker, I done said dat it peared like how you 
wanted a middle-aged carpenter, an' she tole me to ax you if a 
young man ob twenty-five years wouldn't suit you ? 

Maud. There, go to your duties, stupid minion. Alfresco, my 
sister, we must needs wait until we can pick up something in Lon- 
don or Paris or Vienna. 

Alfresco. Don't loiter, Benvenuto ; if you have nothing else to 
do, go to Cosette and paste some tasteful chromosonthe Hispano- 
Moresque pie-plates your master brought from the museum yester- 
day. [Exit Benvenuto. 

Alhambra. I do so want to get an ecclesiastic chair for my 



30 Ye Last Sweet Thing in Corners. 

boudoir. I have hunted all over the city for it and I have been in 
all the artistic second-hand shops without success. 

Maud. You can get it at Fraction's. 

Alhambra. No, dear, I tried ; they are bought up. Mr. Frac- 
tion said he could make 2l fortune if he could supply the demand 
for ecclesiastic chairs. 

Alfresco. Must it be second-hand, Alhambra, dear? 

Alhambra \_rep7-oachfully'\. Yes, of course. 

Alfresco. Then, if I were you, I would have it made to order. 
You can get any second-hand bargain duplicated ; no one could 
ever tell that it was new if well done. You know Judge Plank- 
down's cabinet of rare Dutch marquetry of the i6th ceniury. 
Fraction made that for him in six weeks, brass clasps and all. 

Alhambra. But where is Connie, all this time, and how is her 
affaire tendre progressing ? 

Alfresco. O, Connie is such a trial to us; she nearly worries our 
lives out with her irreverence for Art. She ridicules eveiything ; 
our artistic home, our artistic labor and our artistic hopes. You 
know Dr. Bricabrac and Mr. Kaolin, the great connoisseurs? 

Alhambra. I haven't met them, but I have heard of them, and 
am wild to be introduced. 

Alfresco. Give me that pleasure, they are valued friends of ours : 
but I was about to say that Connie treats them very rudely, and 
she actually told them she was going to be married, that she might 
live among sane people once more. 



K? Last Sivcet Tiling in Comers. 3 1 

Maud. Where is she ? I wish her to go buy some crewels for 
me. [Ca/Zf] "Connie." 

{^Connie^s voice behittd the portiere'] I'm coming [pettishly]. 
Enter in riding habit. 

Alfresco. Where are you going ? 

Connie. Going for a gallop with Dr. Sam. How d'y do, Miss 
Frieze ? How's the Middle Ages at your house ? 

Alfresco. Connie, will you ever stop your slang? I do wish 
you would be more dignified and not spend all your time riding 
over the village ; people will think it very strange of papa to allow 
his youngest child to wander about alone. 

Connie. That isn't the only thing that the people in these dig- 
gings think strange. This ranche of ours is the talk of the place. 
Only this morning I heard we were traveling Gipsies, and the 
Winslow's gardener asked Coselte if there was madness in our 
family. 

Alfresco. There have been noble sufferers for the cause of Art 
before us. We can afford to treat the sneers of common people 
with lofty contempt. What other solace do you need than the 
study of Egyptian pottery ? What other society than your em- 
broidery frame and your Mediaeval crewel samplers ? 

Connie. I'm not going to live in a junk shop for the sake of 
Art or anything else, nor spend my time sewing crazy dandelions 
on kitchen toweling, nor pasting chromos on frying pans, nor any 
high or low art moonshine. I admire pretty things and love pic- 



32 Y'e Last Sweet Thing i?t Corners. 

tures and I can tell an engraving from an oil painting, which is 
more than half your art critics can do, but I don't want to have 
"Art" dinned into my ears morning, noon and night. 

Maud. Alfresco, dear, let her alone, she will never be like the 
rest of us, no, not if she lives till doomsday. 

Connie. I don't want to be. I am going to marry a man with 
a reputation to sustain and it won't help him if it gets abroad that 
he is going to marry into a crazy family. 

Alhatnbra. Why, Connie, how unkind of you. 

Connie. They may as well hear it from me as from strangers. 
Every time we go out we are stared at as if we were bedlamites, 
and I am getting tired of it. 

Alfi-eico. Dr. Sam is at the bottom of this. It is because of his 
influence that you are so impertinent ; I know he dislikes us, but 
if you had any family pride you would resent his insolent allusions 
to our artistic home. 

Connie. He doesn't dislike you. 

Enter Dr. Sam. 

Dr. Sam. Indeed I do not dislike you, Alfresco, I think you 
and Maud and my Connie are the loveliest girls in America and I 
would do anything to prove my regard for you — that is to say, I 
would do anything in reason, but I can't neglect my patients for 
the Middle Ages, and I couldn't mix the Mediaeval medicines with 
nineteenth century doses — upon my word, I could not. I'm a 
radical and all my patients are uncompromisingly of this day of 



Ye Last Sweet Thing in Comers. 33 

their own. I don't think I could get one of them to take a Queen 
Anne pill or an Elizabethan mustard plaster to save my life. They 
would dismiss me first, and if my practice is ruined Connie and I 
can't get married. \^Sits down on a plaque which Maud has painted 
and transfers the design to his white trousers. '\ Oh, the dev— I 
beg your pardon. Here's a nice mess. 

Connie. Oh plague take your old pottery ! Look at my Sam's 
trousers. \^Begins to crv.'\ 

Maud {sobbingl. Well, what did he sit down on my early Italian 
plaque for — he's just ruined it ! 

Dr. Sam. Oh, dear, it is going through. Is it poison ? 
Maud. No, I just wish it was {^sobbing'\ . 

Alfresco. Don't cry, Maud, don't cry. Dr. Sam you're a brute. 
Dr. Sam. Alfresco Dado Brown, I am behaving like an angel ; 
look at my trousers ! 

Alfresco. Look at poor Maud's plaque ! 
Dr. Sam. Look at my trousers ! 

Connie. Come, Sam dear, I'll wash it off with benzine. Don't 
you ever go near their horrid old paint pots again. Come, Sam. 

Dr. Sam. Good bye, ladies. Destiny and my trousers call me 

hence. Adieu Miss Frieze ; when you find yourself venting the 

holy emotions of your soul in early Italian maiolica— think of my 

trousers. [Exit Connie and Dr. Sam. 

Enter Ben. 

Ben. Mis' Frisker the tsvo gemmen what brings de hot objecks 



34 y^ Last Siveet Thing in Coi-ners. 

are coming up de road in a carriage, an' days got a truck follerin 
'em. 

Alfresco. I'm so glad. Bathe your eyes Maud ; don't go Al- 
hambra, Dr. Bricabrac and his friend are coming, you must stay 
and see the curios he is going to lend us while his new museum 
is being built. Some of them are priceless. Benvenuto, attend 
the door. \^Exit Ben. 

Enter Dr. Bricabrac and Kaolin. 

Brie. Ah, ladies, I am delighted to greet you once more, this 
is the happiest picture I have ever seen in my life, your home is 
like a dream of the past, setting off your beauty, like chased gold 
does the gem. Are you all quite well? Ah, this is your valued 
friend Miss Frieze ? Permit me to introduce my friend, Mr. 
Kaolin ; Claude, this is Miss Frieze of whom you have heard. 

Miss F. Delighted to meet you, sir. 

Kaolin. The pleasure is mine, madame. 

Dr. B. I have brought the curios which you were so apprecia- 
tive as to wish to see, and if you think they will fill a void in your 
gentle souls until my museum is finished, I will gladly leave them 
with you. Ah — shall we go over the catalogue at once. 

Alfresco. Please do, dear doctor. 

Maud. By all means, doctor. 

Dr. B. My servant and Benvenuto shall bring them to me as I 
read from my catalogue. The first is a pre-Raphaelite textile Fabric, 
No. 3007. [Produces "basket^' bed-quilt.'\ 

Chorus. How sweet ! How boldly designed ! 



Ve Last Sweet Thing in Corners. 35 

Dr. B. \reads\. No. 4231, M, Night cap of an early Dutch 
painter. [Produces a bottle of Schiedam Schnapps.'\ 

Chorus. Ah, indeed. 

Alfresco. There is something so instructive in the customs of 
that quaint people. 

Dr. B. \_reads'\. No. 7,444 is, pre-historic cleansing utensil 
from the recent excavation in Ohio. [Exhibits a white-wash brush, 
much worn."] 

Chorus. Ah, z«deed. 

Alfresco. Our country has a great unwritten history. 

Dr. B. No. 7,346 I, An Anglo- Hibernian vegetable masher. 
[Exhibits Kehoe club.'\ 

Chorus. Ah, indeed. 

Dr. B. No. 1,643,020, n, A genuine Greek Cratere. [Pro- 
duces a basket-covered demijohn. '\ 

Chorus. Ah, indeed. Isn't it sweet ? 

Dr. B. [aside"] . Yes, there's sugar in it. 

Kaolin [aside\ And it's the genuine crather too. 

Dr. B. [reads]. No. 3000, an Athenian saute pan. 

Chorus. Ah, indeed. My gracious ! 

Alfresco. Is it not rather deep for a saut6 pan ? At our cooking 
class we don't use one more than four inches deep. 

Dr. B. Ah, yes, but allow me to explain. This shape was sug- 
gested to an Athenian chef by a Phoenician cook who had been 
employed in the kitchen of the Pharoahs. It was used to prepare 
a dish of which afterwards the Greeks became inordinately fond. 



36 Ve Last S^veet Thing in Cornei-s. 

They let a few ounces of butter brown in the pan and then put in a 
layer of onions, then a porter-house steak, and finally a double 
layer of onions ; in fact, my dear Miss Brown, it was the ancient 
method of preparing the pastoral dish — the classic beefsteak 
smothered in onions. 

Alfresco [breathing freely and long"]. I am so glad I know. I 
must make note of it for our cooking class. 

Enter Ben and Murphy 7vith large curio. 

Dr. B. Gently Ben, gently, easy Murphy, easy my man. This 
my friends. No. 11,078, F. is an Egyptian mummy, age one hun- 
dred thousand years. 

\^Exit Ben and Murphy. 

Alfresco. Isn't it a little thing? I thought they were large. 
Poor Mummy. Heartless Time, to have caused you to shrink 
thus. 

Mummy \aside'\. Little! Shrunk ! It is a wonder there is any- 
thing left of me after the shaking I got in that wagon ! 
Enter Ben and Murphy. 

Dr. B. Steady men, be careful. Be careful, that bit of old egg 
shell china cost me a pretty penny. Should feel awfully grieved 
if you broke any part of it. 

Bit of old China [aside'\. So should I. 

Dr. B. [reads'] . No. 8,642, Y. a large Chinese Mandarin, portrait 
figure of Jim-lung-jam-lee, a wealthy potentate, contemporaiy with 
Confucius. 

Alfresco. Oh, what an amusing creature, I never saw one so 



Ye Last Sweet Thing m Cornells. 37 

large before. It is almost life-size. Can it rock itself? ^Attempts 
to move ike Mandarin, thereby putting the wooden bowl in which it 
is placed, in motion. '\ 

Alhambra \_touching it]. It looks just as if it could speak if it 
had a mind to. 

Maud. Please rock it Dr. Bricabrac. 

Dr. B. Certainly. Rock-a-by, Mandy. 'i-Aside to the bit of 
Chinal. If you spread out you arms, Cricket, I'll thrash you. 

Alfresco. Let me ! Don't it go nice ! I could just rock you all 
day, you funny old curio. [Curio winks at her.] Oh, my dear ! 
oh doctor! what is the matter with its eyes? 

Dr. B. It is in a bad light. Allow me to move it here. \^Aside 
to the bit of china'\. Now, Cricket, behave yourself, or I'll give 
you Jessie. It isn't time for you to cut up your shines yet. 
Enter Ben and Murphy with a statue. 
Dr. B. Easy my lads, steady now. Very careful Murphy, put 
it on the pedestal. The last and best. No. 5,270. An old Greek 
marble. " Innocence sucking its thumb," sculptor unknown. It 
is supposed to have been discovered by a Dutch general in a vast 
plain, which legend assigned as the original Garden of Eden. 
It has been the subject of much varied and learned criticism and 
was probably executed when Greek art was in its decline. 

Bit of old China {aside to statue;]. If you're an old marble, I 
spose I'm a chiny alley. 

Dr. B. [aside]. Cricket, behave yourself. 

Alfresco. Is it not a gem ? How shall we ever thank you, doctor ? 



38 Ve Last Sweet TJiiiig in Corners. 

Maud. Indeed, doctor, I wish we could thank you sufficiently 
but words are weak to express our joy. 

Alfresco. How happy we shall be ! I'll never be melancholy 
again, for with those wonderful objets d' art about me I shall 
have a wealth of thought which will absorb my inmost spirit the 
long days to come. Time cannot pall or annoy with these about 
me. I shall commune with them and the masters which bade them 
be and endure, and I shall be happy. 

Kaolin \^aside^. If she isn't, it won't be Cricket's fault. 

Alfresco. But while we are admiring our new possessions, we 
are forgetting your creature comforts. You must be hungry after 
your long drive. Benvenuto shall bring the bread and wine. 
What! Ho! Without there ! Who waits ! \^Stops in confusion 
and presses her hand over her drow."] I — I — really don't know 
how it is, but occasionally I get in this manner of speaking. In 
fact, ever since we have occupied our new home, I seem to live in 
the middle ages and relapse into the phraseology of olden time. I 
think it must be the effect of the new curios. 

Maud. And so does papa. Don't you remember, dear, it was only 
the other night when Cosette surprised papa by snuffing the candle 
into the salad instead of the tray, he exclaimed, " By my Hali- 
dame, wench," and sometimes he says, " Grammercy," he declares 
he cannot help it. 

Enter Ben. with tea, wine and frtiit. The MissES Brown press 
their guests to partake of the food. 
Kaolin. What a wonderful eye for color you ladies have. The 



Ve Last Sweet Thing in Corners. 39 

grouping on the tea table is as admirable a symphonic treatment 
as I have ever seen. 

Dr. B. And the subjective tones of the bread and butter against 
the green plate is a marriage of sweet hues. 

Maud. Oh, doctor, you talky«5^ like one of papa's Art articles. 
Dr. B. Now really Miss Brown, that is high praise indeed, it is 
a bonus of honor which my modesty will not permit me to appro- 
priate. I never could talk like your respected father. \_Aside.-\ 
Heaven forbid ! 

Alhambra [/>/ terror^ Oh— oh— ouch! 
Alfresco attd Maud. What is the matter, Alhambra, dear? 
Alhambra. Some horrid creature is in this apple and has stung 
me in the mouth. Oh my goodness how it hurts ! Do you think 
it will swell ? 

Alfresco [falteringly^. I am afraid it is the pins which I put 
in the little bows of blue ribbon to decorate them ; the glue would 
not stick and I put a pin through the centre of the bow. I am so 
sorry it ran in your mouth,— but don't you think it a pretty idea? 
I got it from reading a criticism of papa's on the English water- 
colonsts. It seemed to me that the apples were too warm a red 
and I thought a little pale blue ribbon would tone it down ; but 
blue is such a difficult color to handle. 

Dr. B. \aside^. Darling Alfresco, may I not see you alone for 
two fleeting moments ? 

Alfresco laside]. I shall try to get rid of Alhambra, and sister 
and Mr. Kaolin will be glad to walk out in the garden together. 



40 Ye Last Sweet Thing in Comers. 

Dr. B. \aside'\. Do, my angel. 

Alfresco. Alhambra, dear, I fear your poor, dear mouth is swell- 
ing. I am so sorry for you, but it is looking dreadfully. 

Alhambra. Oh, is it? What shall I do? 

Dr. B. If you were at home, a piece of cold raw beef laid on it 
would remove the swelling. 

Alhambra. Then I must go at once. No, dear, I really can't 
stay any longer; I must go home or I shall be a fright. I'll come 
soon again. Good-bye dear. [Kisses the Misses Brown and 
makes a feint of kissing Dr. B. ; discovers her mistake and retires 
in confusion.'\ Oh, dear, I am so ill I don't know what I am 
doing. [Exit Al. b. 

[Bric. ««rtf Alfresco, Mr. Kaolin and Maud stand in couples 

conversing in a low tone, the curios meamvhile are helping them- 
selves to the food xuith relish and pantomime. "^ 

Alfresco. Maud, dear. 

Maud. Sister mine. 

Alfresco. Don't you think Mr. Kaolin would like to see our 
dear old apple trees ? 

Maud. Claude, do you love apple trees? 

Kaolin. Dearest Maud, I adore them, — next to you. 

Maud. Shall we go for a walk then ? 

Kaolin. With all my heart. \^Exit Maud and Kaolin, Z. D. 

Dr. B, My darling Alfresco, do you truly love me? 

Alfresco. Yes, my very own, you know I do. 

Dr. B. I would fain believe you, but you have known me so 



Ye Last Sweet Thing in Corners. 41 

short a time, and this is a deceitful world,-at least I have found 
it so, and sometimes the fear haunts me that my vanity expects too 
much, and that my dear little duck of a decorator, my sweet 
mignonne pottery putterer, my macrame fringed cherub, my fond- 
est'stork embroidered anti-macassar, my precious darling decalco- 
manie, my iridescent Venitian glass goblet, my cameo, my intag- 
lio, my whole catalogue of gems, loves me for my curios and not 
for myself; but you do love me, sweetheart, don't you? Say it 
again. Say to me, that if I were only a poor artist with five thou- 
sand a year, and had not a museum to my name, nor a bit of early 
Italian maiolica to my back, nor the shadow of an Egyptian 
mummy to foster an art-atmosphere in our home, but only my 
heart to love you, my eyes to adore you, and my hands to work 
for you, and keep your own like white rose petals, and my broad 
breast for you to rest upon, and keep your dear little tootsy- 
wapsies from the cold, cold ground, would my sweet darling lovey 
dovey decorated pre-Raphaelite love me then, would her? 

Alfresco. Ah, my own, my very, veriest own, my chosen Bric- 
abrac, collector of collectors, more steadfast than Cloisnee, more 
precious than "old blue,"-how the very name thrills me with 
fond association. Yes, even if I found you had deceived me, that 
instead of being a great connoisseur I were to find in you a mere 
worldling, a merchant millionaire, after what has transpired, I 
should love you and be your wife. 

7?n.9. Oh,bliss. iThey embrace.-\ 

Alfresco ldisen;:;aging herself \ But now let me show you the 



42 Ve Last Stveet Thing in Corners. 

little (lower I am going to bring you, the things I have made for 
our new home with my very own hands. Help me to lift this 
box, dearest. 

£)r. B. Ah, this is my charge. 

[Lifts chest to centre of stage. Alfresco opens zt.'\ 

Alfresco. Here is your smoking cap and wrapper, trimmed with 
macrame lace, and here is an inlaid clothes pole for the kitchen, 
and here is a cartoon — a design for the iron gate of a private 
menagerie, when we can afford one,— and here are some bits 
of old china, I did them ; and here is a set of embroidered cheese 
cloths to dust the curios, — and here — don't blush — I have taken 
some liberty with your wardrobe and have made you some shirts, 
— that is to say, I bought them made, but decorated them myself; 
you will think of me when you wear them, won't you, dear ? 
[Spreads out the decorated shirt. ^ Don't you think the sunflower 
design on the front bold and original ? 

Dr. B. I do indeed, dear. I am sure it will create a sensation 
on the avenue. [Aside'\ Oh, Lord. 

Alfresco. I knew you would admire it. And I have a set of de- 
signs here for our best dinner dishes, each represents the rise and 
fall of every art of every country, and in the middle I have en- 
twined our monograms, and here's a little place I have left bare 
for our crest, — that is if we can look up our genealogy and get 
one. I had rather find one from the Browns in ancient history 
than have one made at Tiffany's for us. But, dearest, haven't you 
a c(jat-of-arms in your family ? We really must have one. 



Ye Last Sweet Tiling in Corners. 43 

Dr. B. Oh, yes ; our family were distinguished in the early 
Irish wars; on the distaff side they were all Borhues, and the coat 
of arms was a green field bearing on it a shillaly rampant. 

Alfresco. How delightful ! Won't you hunt it up for us, like a 
dear? I'd just love to have it on our coupe, we won't have a 
coupe — we'll have a sweet low-backed car, shan't we ? 

Dr. B. It would be distractingly picturesque, certainly. 

Alfresco. And we'll have a Shillaly Rampant blazoned on each 
side, — why that reminds me — I think I have some family docu- 
ments belonging to you; you dropped it out of your pocket-book 
when you were here last. It is so quaint and queer. I showed 
it to Maud, and she said, she thought if we took it to an Oriental 
scholar he could decipher it for us, but I feared you might not 
like it, and thought it better to ask you to explain it to me. 

Dr. B. \_abse}itly'\. You were a thoughtful darling. I don't re- 
member losing any hieroglyphic paper. 

Alfresco [produces Utile folded paper'\. First, there is three 
curious round things like pills, then there's a dash and some dots, 
and something that looks like "doll" and the "250," and then 
beneath it says, " not answerable in case of fire, moth or robbery," 
— why what's the matter? 

Dr. Brie [takifig paper from /ie)-'\. Yes it is — it is — it's a family 
paper, you were quite right, it is a family paper and was given me 
by my uncle Idslde, Uncle Siinpson'\. 

Alfresco. I thought it was a label from some rare curio. 

Mr. Brie. You are gifted with divination my sweetest — it is — 



44 ^^ Last Stveet Thing in Corners. 

\_aside'] It is the ticket of my dress coat, precious rare, I have not 
seen it for nearly a year. 

Alfresco. Won't you tell me what it means ? You ought to have 
no secrets from me. 

D 7-. Brie [desperately']. Well, daughter of Eve, you see these 
three round things are the emblems, or ancient marks of the great 
de Medicis, and in reality mean pills, for the family were renowned 
centuries ago for their discoveries in medicine. [Aside] How 
shall I get out of this? [Noise at the door. Alfresco disengaging 
herself from Dr. Bricabrac' s arms.] 

Alfresco. Oh, pshaw, there comes Maud and Mr. Kaolin and I 
have not said half what I intended to say to you. 

Dr. B. How stupid of them. [Aside] Thank fortune ! 

Enter Maud and Kaolin. 
Maud. You have only ten minutes to catch the train ! Oh how 
quickly the afternoon has gone. 

Dr. B7'ic. Really, is it so late? Then we must tear ourselves 
away. Good bye, au revoir. [Kisses Alfresco'' s hattd.] 

[Exit Bric and Kaolin. 

[Curios who have been capering about, run hurriedly to their 
places ; the MUMMY mounts the pedestal, the MANDARIN leans against 
the bust in the corner, -while the Greek Statue crottches in the 
Mandarin's bowl. 

Alfresco. I think Dr. Bricabrac is the greatest connoisseur living. 

Maud. In curios, yes, but of old china and maiolica, I think 



Ve Last Sweet Thing in Corners. 45 

Mr. Kaolin is one man in all the nineteenth century — I am perfectly 
happy to-day \_sighs'\ . 

Alfresco. So am I [sighs'^. 

Maud. How glad Papa will be when he sees our new possessions ! 
Why, there is the dear Pater now. 

Brown. My darling, my first born Alfresco, my lady Maud. But 
where is my little Arch-Rebel- Consuelo Renaissance ? 

Maud. Out riding with her doctor Sam, as usual. 

Alfresco. Papa, dear, you can't guess what has happened. Now 
shut your eyes — No don't open your mouth — Shut your eyes. 
Now turn around. Now then, what do you think of this ? 

Brown, What do I see ? 

Alfresco. Doctor Bricabrac brought them — wasn't it lovely of 
him ? See that Mummy! \_Points to MuMMY tvho has posed a la 
Col. Sellers. '\ 

Brown \^in a rapture'\. But this is grand ! my dears, I take this 
as very friendly on the part of my friend Bricabrac, he has behaved 
handsomely, he has indeed. What power there is in that brow, in 
that um — um — marble, in ye um — ye an — in fact see how carefully 
ye color is worked up in ye bit of old china, doubtless by some 
celestial prehistoric artist, equal to Potta-Rubbia of Italy. And 
that a — um — that ah — objet d^ a7-t is ye figure-head of ye ancient 
bucaneer — I doubt not — 

Alfresco \aside'\. Why they look awfully queer some how, don't 
they to you Maud ? 



46 Ye Last Sweet Thing in Corners. 

Maud \asidc'\. What did you say, dear? I was thinking of 
Claud Kaolin. 

Brown Yattitudinizing\. Alfresco, hear me — that, that is ye only 
mummy I ever saw which struck me as being genuine. Alfresco, 
Maud, my children, it was a glad day for me when it darkened — 
came beneath my humble rooftree. Oh, you thing of old, you 
corpse of an ancient king — (probably) — you friend of ye Pharaohs 
and contemporary of dead and gone monarchs of mighty Egypt. 
Sharer of ye mystic secrets of ye sphynx, of that grandest of all 
conundrums — ye pyramids ! Would you could speak now, and 
tell us of your own age, and put this frivolous time of ours to 
shame ! \^A loud knocking at the door.'\ 

Brown. What, ho ! Benvenuto ! Approach ye portal and bid 
him who waits salve, and cave canem. 

Enter two Policemen. 

Brown. What would ye? 

1st Policeman. Is your name Brown ? 

Bro-ivn. It is — sirrah. 

1st Policeman \_drawing paper from his coat'\. You must come 
with me ; you're my prisoner. 

Brojvn. Marry fellow, what do ye mean? 

1st PoHce7?ian. Now stash your gab — you're going up on three 
counts. 

Alfresco. Ah ! [/« terror."] 

Matid. Oh. Va^^-l [Sobbing.'] 

Brown [aroused to indignation and the American language]. 



Ve Last Sivcct Thing in Corners. 47 

Hush girls ! How dare you intrude upon me — I am a simple gentle- 
man. [1ST Policeman winks at 2D Voiackuah and taps his head 
significantly .'\ And I am the art critic of the Fog Whistle — 

1st. Policeman. Now you needn't say anything to criminate 
yourself, but I'd like to know how much you expect to make out 
of the shady little plant you're on now. 

Brown. " Plant," fellow, what does this insolence mean ? 

ist. Policeman. Don't try that on — it's too thin. I've had my 
eye on you for a long time, and thought you'd need my profes- 
sional services ; now are you coming peaceable, or shall I clap on 
the bracelets ? 

Brozvn. I demand to know of what I am accused. 

2d Policeman. Tell him Billy. 

ist Policeman. Receiving stolen goods. Harboring two es- 
caped lunatics — these young women here — they go up with you, 
and vagrancy. 

Brown. But my good man, you are mistaken, I assure you, we 
are a quiet family. I am an art critic — 

ist Policeman. Didn't I tell you not to give yourself away ? 
Now I'd advise you to stop chinnin' or you'll make things worse. 
We have our theory about you worked out fine. 

Brown. I will give bail — come with me and I will give you 
security for my appearance at any time the law may demand, but 
now it is late, and I would be rid of you. 

ist Policeman. Much obliged, but that won't work. We won't 
take any bail, its too late, and to-day's Saturday. You'll have to 



48 Ye Last Szveet Tiling in Corners. 

make the best of it in the jug until your case is tried next week. 

So come along — get your bunnits young women. Come along ! 

\^Lays his hand on Brown^s shoulder.'\ 

Alfresco. Don't you dare touch ray father. He is innocent. I 
call the angels to witness ! 

ist Police?nan. Well young woman, if you can supeny them 
angels when your trial comes off, you'll score one for the Brown 
case, but now yoa are all coming along with me. 

Maud. And leave our home ! 

Alfresco. Our sweet home, our own artistic paradise ! 

Brown. Our vine and fig tree ! 

jst Policeman. Don't feel bad old man, your vine and fig trees 
are comin' too, I have got a warrant for three of 'em. \^Seizes 
curios, who struggle ; the Mummy tries to crawl under the portiere. 
The Browns stare at them in consternation. '\ 

Brown. I am not mad — no, no, not mad. [ Tears his hair."] 

ist Policeman. Well, your neighbors wouldn't swear to that. 

\^Seizes Br own. "^ 

Alfresco. Help^I die ! 

\_Swoons and is catight by the MANDARIN.] 

Maud. Oh my sister, I die with you ! 

\_Swoons and is caught by the Statue.] 

Brown. My chield, my chield. \^Swoons and is caught by the 
Mummy, who poses a la Col. Sellers. Cosette smashing dishes as 
curtain Jails. 

End of Act II. 



ACT III. HOME— IN A COTTAGE. 

Scene. — Tastefully furnished drawing-room in the Gray Cottage, 
the residence of Dr. Floyd. 

Enter GKUaoG^, followed by MODDLE, 

Moddle. Oh Gam, I'm a brute, I'm a brute ! 

Gamboge. And I'm another. 

Moddle. Yes, we're both brutes. 

Gamboge. But for all that, don't you go spoiling what we have 
done with your sentimental notions of justice. It's done, and 
can't be helped, and tho' I can't say that I altogether approve 
of what we did, the end partly reconciles me to the means. 
Maud and Alfresco were two very silly girls, for all their loveli- 
ness, and we have cured them; their father, begging their pardon, 
was an infernal ass ; but now it is to be hoped that he has given up 
for all time his profession of making fools of others as he has 
been doing with his papers on art {Poor Art!). Viewing it in a 
pecuniaiy light, he had interfered with our means of obtaining our 
living — I do not believe there was any bitterness in the revenge 
we took upon him though I am afraid we frightened the girls. 

Moddle. By Jove, Gam, I was frightened too, when I saw her 
lying like a dead lily in the arms of the bit of old china. For- 
tunately the rag carpets and rugs were thick. 



50 Ve Last Sweet Thing in Corners. 

Gamboge, But — ha ! ha ! — how the old fellow did beam upon 
us when we appeared in our own identity, as the trio were recov- 
ering from their swoon ! 

Moddle. And how he swallowed the story of our being near the 
barn beautiful sketching, and heard cries of distress and hastened 
to their rescue ! 

Gamboge. And how important a person I became in Brown's 
eyes when I told him I had influence with the police, and would 
be responsible for their appearance until he could get bail — but 
poor Alfresco, my heart misgave me when I saw her fainting in 
Cricket's arms ! 

Moddle. How well the little beggars played their parts ! 

Gamboge. Not to mention the talent of the big beggars, eh, 
Moddle ? 

Moddle. As far as that was concerned, it all went off like a play, 
especially when we had to change our clothes. 

Gamboge. Well then, as I said, let well enough alone. We 
courted the girls for spite, we are going to marry them for love — 
Maud hates Kaolin, the scamp, but adores Moddle, her preserver. 
Alfresco detests Bricabrac the impostor, but has promised to 
intrust her happiness into the keeping of Raphael Gamboge, the 
poor artist. I know they both have spirit, and I for one, am not 
so sick of self love, thank Heaven, as to believe her love for me 
now could make her forget my conduct to her then, and grant me 
a full pardon. But she needed a lesson ; they both did, and 
Brown, like a sensible man, has quit writing on art, of which he 



Ye Last Sweet Thing in Comers. 5 1 

knows nothing, and has gone into manufacturing Macram6 lace, 
for which, I admit, he has some talent, in fact — 

Moddle. All's well, that ends well. 

Gamboge. Ah, but here's the rub. We have not yet got to 
the end. Now I was about to propose this poser lo you. What 
are we going to live on when we get married ? But softly, here 
comes Mrs. Doctor Sam. 

Enter Mrs. Dr. Sam Floyd, fortnerly Miss Connie Brown. 

Mrs. Floyd. I am so glad to see you, alone for once. I have 
been trying to get a word with you two alone, ever since we re- 
turned from our wedding tour, for I must thank you for your 
efforts in persuading my misguided family to leave that detestable 
barn. What magk; have you about^ you ? How did you accom- 
plish it ? I ask the doctor, but he invariably replies, " Rid- 
dles, Connie, I know no more than you do." But come to con- 
fession, now, and tell me, how did you go about it? 

Gamboge. Why really, Mrs. Floyd, you know we were in the 
neighborhood when they were in that scrape, and it was our duty 
to help them, which we did, and since then a more amiable feeling 
has been established between your father and ourselves. 

Mrs. Floyd. Yes, I know, papa used to be severe on your pic- 
tures. I always thought them lovely, and it was so generous of 
you to get him out of that scrape, when by leaving him alone, you 
might have had revenge by seeing the disgraceful story in the 
papers. But I don't think papa really meant any harm by his art- 



52 Ye Last Siveet Tiling in Corner's. 

writing, only he was fond of scribbling and it gave the whole 
family a sort of swagger you know. 

Enter DOCTOR Sam Floyd. 

Doctor Sam \interrupting\. Mustn't say swagger, Connie 
dear. What are you all talking about ? 

Mrs. Floyd. Well, I mean it gave us a sort of air, to be pointed 
out as the daughters of a great art-critic, and sometimes papa got 
beautiful pictures from some of the artists of whose work he 
wrote, and that of course, was very nice. 

Gamboge. I am sure it was an easy way of adding to his collec- 
tion. \ Exchanges looks with Moddle.'] 

Mrs. Floyd. And sometimes the artists would send him pictures 
before he wrote about them, so he must have had his admirers 
among your profession. 

Doctor Floyd. And were they good, or bad pictures ? 

Mrs. Floyd. Why as it happened, they were all good, for papa 
puffed them all, and if they were big he wrote a half column each 
about them. But here are the girls. 

Enter ALFRESCO and Maud Brown. 

Mrs. Floyd. You are just in time AUie. I was telling Mr. 
Gamboge about a perfect symphony of a barn there is to let. 

Alfresco. Now, Connie, will you please stop. You promised 
you would not say anything more about it. 

A'Irs. Floyd. Stop what, AUie, I was only telling my brother-in- 
law to be, of a chance to get a mediaeval interior at a bargain. 



Ve Last Sweet Thing in Corners. 5 3 

Matid. Please, Connie, stop. 

Mrs. Floyd. Why Doctor Sam, did you ever know two such un- 
grateful girls in all your life? Here I am offering to do all I can 
to aid them by my six weeks experience as a wife and housekeeper, 
and they look as if they were about to cry, and you sit there and 
see your lawful wife abused and don't interfere. Defend your 
altars and your fires and my dignity, Sam, tell them they must treat 
me with respect under your roof even if it is not shingled with 
early Dutch tiles. 

Alfresco. Will you ever keep still abouLthat barn. I hate barns. 

Maud. So do I. 

Moddle. I don't. 

Gamboge. I don't either. 

M]-s. Floyd. I used to, but I don't now, for its no end of fun to 
think of the sport that was carried on under that roof. When that 
horrid old Bncabrac used to call on Allie, and talk about Egyptian 
pottery and Hindoo rice plaques, I used to get behind the portiere 
and make Cosette rattle the dishes, and once I made her fry some 
onions to see if 1 could not drive them out that way. 

Alfresco. Won't you please, brother Sam, coax her to hold her 
tongue. I have eaten humble pie enough and am perfectly willing 
that my husband shall have a home utterly devoid of ornament, if 
he pleases. 

Ga7iiboge. Your husband is going to let his wife furnish her 
house to suit herself. 

Mrs. Floyd. Your barn beautiful, you mean. 



54 y^ Last Sweet Thing in Corners. 

Doctor Sam. Connie, you little witch — I shall have to punish 
you — have either of you two ladies such a thing as a silver and 
Niello Damascened bowie-knife about you? 

Alfresco. Sam, you're as bad as she is. Let us change the sub- 
ject. 

Doctor Sam. With all my heart — by the way, if it is not an im- 
pertinent question, when are you four people going to be married ? 

Moddle. Why the fact is — \_hesitates'\. 

Gamboge. The fact is — \_hesitates'\. 

Aland. Oh, dear, I wish I was rich ! 

Doctor Floyd. So do I, Maud, but what has that got to do 
with my question? 

Moddle. Why you see — 

Gamboge. The fact is, we have not got any money. 1 have pic- 
tures, and Moddle has got statuary, but they won't do us any good 
until we can turn them into dollars and cents. To come down to 
stern facts, what with the twaddle in the newspapers and the twad- 
dle out of the newspapers, an American artist can't sell a picture 
unless he goes to Europe to do it, for rich people who are weak 
enough to be led by eveiything they see in print, had rather refuse 
to buy what their own innate good taste would lead them to pur- 
chase, than not put child-like faith in flimsy newspaper articles on 
Art, and so the " tolerably well to do " people buy chromos, and 
the artists starve. 

Alfresco. Could not we live in the studio and save renting a 
house ? 



Ve Last Sweet Thing in Corners. 5 5 

Gamboge. No, dearest, there would be no economy in that mix- 
ture. 

Alfresco. Couldn't we help you in some way ? I could do 
crewel work and sell it and — 

Maud. And I could pose for Ralph. 

Doctor Floyd. I wish I were rich enough to buy pictures and 
statuary and I would give you both a lift. 

Mrs. Floyd, I have an idea — 

Doctor Sam. Oh, have you Connie, whereabouts ? Really now ? 
Do you suffer from it — my healthy little wife — show me your 
tongue. 

M7-S. Floyd. Taisez vous — to speak more correctly, I had an 
idea, and acted upon it, but as I did not wish to lose the benefit 
of it by discounting a success, I forebore to tell any of you of 
my plan. 

Doctor Sam. Whatever is going to happen when Connie has 
such a long idea as that ? 

Mrs. Floyd. Please, Doctor Floyd, I have the floor. We are 
going to have a visitor this afternoon, dear old uncle Bobbin from 
Cincinnati. You know he is as rich as a Peruvian gold mine. I 
wrote to him two weeks ago, telling him all about you four people 
who want to go housekeeping and have a nice little income to keep 
it with, and begged him to buy some pictures by Raphael, and a 
statue by our sculptor brother. I got a letter from him as soon as 
the return mail could fetch it to me, and he said he had to come 
to New York on business, and he would visit me, and to make a 



56 Ye Last Sweet Thing in Corners. 

long story short, I got a telegram this morning that he would be 
here to-day. I feel it in my bones that he will do something for 
you. 

Gamboge, Dear Mrs. Floyd, your words put fresh hope in our 
hearts. 

Maud. Oh, Connie, you're a dear thoughtful girl. 

Connie. Why you said yesterday that I had not but one idea in 
the world and that was that I had the best husband in America. 

Doctor Floyd. You're a sensible little woman and you deserve 
him, ahem ! 

Alfresco. I say you are a dear, dear, kind, little sister too. 

Connie. Why, you told me yesterday that I was an exasperating 
little donkey, and the only person I ever tried to please and pro- 
pitiate was my husband. 

Doctor Floyd. Again I say you are a sensible little woman, and 
if the world were fuller of such it would be the j oiliest place to 
live in. 

Alfresco. Won't it be splendid if uncle Bobbin does help us. 
How funny I never thought of writing for his advice. 

Maud. If he don't help us, what shall we do to get married ? 

Gamboge. Getting married is the easiest part. What shall we 
live on afterward is the agonizing problem. \^Noise is heard at the 
door."] 

Mrs. Floyd. I wonder if that is not uncle Bobbin now ? [ Goes 
to the door."] 



Ye Last Sweet Thing in Corners. 57 

Enter Stumps with letter. 

Stumps. A letter for Mr. Gamboge. 

Gamboge. Ah, my lad, and why did you not leave it at my 
studio, is it important ? 

Sttimps. The man that left it said you must get it to wunst. 

Gamboge. Any answer? 

Stumps. No, sir. 

Gamboge. You may go. [Opens letter. '\ Why, what is this? 
Great heaven ! Can he have committed suicide ? 

Alfi-esco. What is the matter, dear ? No bad news, I hope. 

Gamboge. It's from your father. \^Reads'\ By the titne this 
reaches your hand I shall be far away. Macrame lace and raveled 
rugs fail to compensate me for the loss I have sustained in leaving 
the art critic's chair on the Fog Whistle. When you made me 
promise to leave art and go into trade you little knew you had bereft 
tne of the melody of my life. Lest temptation prove too strong, 1 
leave America forever. I shall never be taken alive, so follow me 
not. With my bride I go to Italy's sunny clime, where beneath its 
cerulean blue I shall try to forget the ingratitude of the A7!ierican 
artists in the study of maiolica. I go ; farewell. Barouche Brozvn. 

Alaud and Alfresco. To whom is he married? Oh, papa! to 
leave us thus ! 

Connie \_in distress'\. Oh, can it be true? Don't cry, sisters; 
you shall have a home with us. 

Alfresco [wiping her eyes~\. Who is his bride ? Do we know her ? 



58 Ye Last Sweet Thing in Corners. 

Gamboge. It says in this notice, which he has enclosed, a Miss 
Cosette Crest. 

Alfresco. Cosette ! 

Maud. Cosette! 

Mrs. Floyd. Cosette Crest i It used to be Cosette Crust. 

Doctor Floyd. Who the deuce is Cosette, anyhow ? 

Mrs. Floyd. Why, Cosette's our maid. 

Doctor Floyd. No, she is not. She is your mother. 

Mrs. Floyd. Our mother! I'd like to see myself — 

Doctor Floyd. No; but seriously, who is she? or who was she ? 

Alfresco. She was our maid. Have you forgotten her ? 

Doctor Floyd. No, for I never remembered her. I never laid 
eyes on her. 

Mrs. Floyd. Oh, what a story ! You saw her a hundred times ! 

Doctor Floyd. Upon my word, I did not. 

Gafuboge. Neither did I. 

Moddle. No more did I. 

Gamboge. I don't believe any of us ever saw her, though I con- 
fess to havmg seen on several occasions a pair of ankles; but I 
never saw the face of the owner ; and unobserved, one day, when 
the noise in the culinary department was the loudest, I took the 
liberty of making a sketch of them. Here it is. 
[Exhibits sketch of a dreadful pair of ankles. All crowd about it 
and laugh. '\ 

Gamboge [aside to Moddle]. What do you think of the 
news? 



Ye Last Sweet Thing in Corners. 59 

Moddle \_aside to GAMBOGE]. I thought his conversion was 
mighty sudden. What is the best thing to say to comfort the 
girls ? 

Gamboge. We must marry them at once. 

Alfresco \yery proudly\. Doctor Floyd, you have been a kind, 
good brother to us, but do not think that we are going to remain a 
burden on you — Maud and myself are willing to work, and we will 
go out as governesses, or tend a shop, if we can't do any better. 
Won't we Maud ? 

[Puts her arm about her sister and begins to cry.\ 
Enter Bobbin unobserved. 

Gamboge. Dearest Allie, don't cry. \_Goes to her.'\ 

Moddle. Maud, don't cry, we'll take care of you. 

\_Goes to Maud.] 

Gamboge. Yes, we have made up our minds, as we cannot live 
by Art respectably, we will make the fair creature a profound bow, 
and only remember her as a coy acquaintance. I can get Moddle 
a position in a clothing store as salesman, and as for me, I'll work 
for a photographer. 

Bobbin [coming forw a 7-d'\. Hold your horses. How do you all 
do ? I know you're all glad to see Uncle Bob, or if you ain't, I'll 
make you glad before I go. [Mrs. Floyd rushes into his artns.'\ 
How d'y do? So little Connie's married. How do you like it? 

Mrs. Floyd. Oh, Uncle, I'm so glad you have come ! We are 
in such trouble ! Papa has eloped, and Allie and Maud want to 
get married, and — 



6o Ye Last Sweet Thing in Corners. 

Bobbin. Now don't say another word, I've been listening and 
heard it all. Young man \_to Gamboge] , I like your grit. You 
keep to them sentiments 1 heard you say just now, and I'll stand 
by you. I hear you can paint. 

Gamboge. I can paint, but I can't make money. 

Bobbin. That's the difference between you and me, I can make 
money but I can't paint. The only brush I ever handled was 
when I whitewashed Aunt Betsy's garden fence. And I like your 
grit, young man. [ To Moddle.] So you can make statues. 

Moddle. I can make statues, but /can't make money. 

Bobbin. There's the difference between you and me, I can 
make money but I can't make statues. Now suppose you listen to 
an old man who has roughed it and knows the world, if any man 
does. You two young men marry your girls and come out West 
with me. I'll give you work if you won't be too high flown to 
take it. You say you can draw pictures ? 

Gamboge. By the cartload. 

Bobbin. I'll take every one of 'em. You draw 'em and I'll 
turn 'em all into labels for my soap. For instance a beautiful 
home, father, mother, children, baby in the cradle. — " The 
Happy Family," they use Bobbin's soap. Then a sad scene, a 
man beating his wife — the miserable family, they don't use Bob- 
bin's soap. What's the reason you can't do that? Then you can 
paint shirts in the laundry where they use Bobbin's Soap, and the 
shirts in the laundry where they don't use Bobbin's soap. I'll 
have a man write poetry for each picture. For instance : 



Ye Last Sweet Thing in Corners. 6i 

Unlaundried shirts long time he wore, 

Sal-soda was in vain, 
Till Bobbin's soap came to the fore, 

And set him up again. 

Oh, I'm brimful of ideas ! It's always been my aim to see pic- 
tures of my soap in every grocery store from here to Russia. I 
can keep you drawing labels for me till you make enough to retire 
on. Every picture you paint I'll bargain to make it advertise 
my soap. Say it's a landscape with a girl sitting under a tree or on 
the door step. 

'Twas a Monday morning, 

Kate's washing was most done. 

And she before the laundry door 
Was sitting in the sun. 

While bleaching on the pretty green. 

Were the whitest shirts you ever seen. 

Chorus. Use Bobbin's soap. 
Bobbin's patent quick action, self-asserting, soil-persuading 
eclectic soap. No respectable family can do v/ithout it. It 
■breeds content in the home, comforts the weary housekeeper, 
lightens the kitchen-maid's cares. The father coming home tired 
at night to the bosom of his family, sees the effect of Bobbin's soap 
in the snowy table cloth, the spotless napkins, the children's pina- 
fores, the bath room towels and in the mother-in-law's lace cap. 
Cleanliness is the first law of nature. It is the foundation of 



62 Ye Last Sweet Thiitg in Corners. 

morals in the family, and the family found the state. Give Bob- 
bin's soap a trial. It contains no deleterious substance. It is per- 
fectly uninjurious to the clothes. 

Give it a trial and ask for more, 

No charge for sample left at your door. 

3Irs. Floyd. 1 say so too, make money and be artistic afterward. 

Doctor Floyd. It's my opinion that it's a splendid offer. 

Gamboge. And I am thankful for it. I suppose I may have a 
chance to paint other pictures in time. 

Bobbin. Of course. You needn't take the world into your con- 
fidence. You needn't put your name to your pictures of my soap. 
I don't care; I ain't proud myself; soap has stuck by me and I'll 
stick by soap, but I shall not quarrel with you and the girls if you 
don't want to identify A. I. art with the best soap in the United 
States. You have your studio in the best building in the city for 
your fancy paintings you can't sell, and I'll rig you up a room in 
my factory where you can paint the labels you'll make your fortune 
at. What's the reason you can't clap a high price on your fancy 
pictures, and fight shy of selling them, and then you'll find you 
can't paint 'em fast enough for customers; that's human nature. 

Moddle. And how can I be of service to you ? I don't see how 
you can make use of me. 

Bobbin. What's the reason I can't give you work ? I want you 
to make figures of people using Bobbin's soap. I want you to 
make a figure of a woman holding a cake of Bobbin's soap in her 



Ye Last Stveet Thing in Corners. 63 

hand, with a crown on her head. Why can't art and business mix ? 
If you want to give it an andent Greek touch, why throw in a 
little Latin — 

Setftper idem, non disputandem 

Soapus Bobbinus ad capitandem. 
Carve it around the bottom of her petticoats, and I'll fix that 
statue on the highest peak of the Rocky Mountains, if I have to 
go to Washington twice a year to pay the rent. Don't you fret ! 
I can give you lots of ideas for figures to carry the good news of 
Bobbin's soap to every grocer in the world — 

From Canada's cold climate 

To old Kentucky's shore 

We'll send a cake of Bobbin's soap 

To every cottage door. 

And so forth, and so forth. Now, I'm a man of few words, as per- 
haps you see. Now, will you take my offer or not ? 

Gamboge. I'll take it and thank you. 

Moddle. And so will I, with all my heart. 

Alfresco. Won't it be delightful ! and I can paste the labels. 

Maud. And I can pose for laundry maids and housewives and 
Bobbin's soap, the queen of the kitchen. 

Bobbin. That's right, I am glad to see you've a straight idea of 
your duties to your husbands and my soap. Can you get married 
and ready te go West with me in three days. 

All. Oh, yes, yes, yes. 



64 Vi^ Last Sweet Thing in Corners. 

Bobbin. Then I must leave you for a while, for I have other 
business than making matches. Good-bye until to-night. Bless 
you my children, and pack your trunks, \^Exit BOBBIN. 

Gamboge. Now for a fresh start in life ; who knows but out 
there in a new field, free from care, with art boiling the pot and 
paying the rent, we shall be a hundred times happier than drag- 
ging out a miserable life of disappointment here— what say 
you Moddle ? 

Moddle. I say, "ay" with my whole heart. \_Aside'\ Its rum 
aiii't it ? 

Gamboge. It's nothing else, but I'm game for anything. I'll 
paint the labels at night and peddle the soap in the day time, if the 
old man insists on it [aside\. 

Moddle. And I'll carry the figures of Bobbin's soap patrons 
on a board on my head, like an Italian image vender, if I can 
make a living no other way laside"]. 

Alfresco. We must hurry away and pack our trunks and boxes to 
emigrate to the far West. 

Maud. We must send Benvenuto to that horrid barn to get some 
things we shall need — where can he be, I sent him of an errand 
two hours ago. 

Gamboge. Whisper of angels and you'll hear their wings. 
Enter Benvenuto. 

Ben {^trembling and frightened^ Oh, Mars Moddle, oh, Miss 
Frisco, honey. 



Ye Last Sweet Thing in Corners. 65 

All. What is the matter, what ails you ? 

Ben. Dreful news, Miss Frisco. 

Gamboge. Tell us quick what is the matter ? 

Ben. Oh, Mars Gamboge de barn bu'ful's dun sploded. Dar 
was dynamite in the las' picture dat was sent Mars Brown, an' it 
done blowed de whole cabin up. 

Gamboge. What picture ? 

Ben. De lilly one wid de curly headed bats. 
Gamboge. Curly headed bats ! 

Beti. Yes, sah ! 

Alfresco. Why, what can he mean? 

Maud. I don't remember it ! 

Mrs. Floyd \_laughing'\. Perhaps he means the Sistine Cherubs, 

Gamboge. Oh, to be sure, the copy by Vert Green. \^Aside to 
MoDDLE.] You know Brown played the mischief with him in 
the papers. 

Meddle [rtj-?V/(?]. Yes, I know, but this is a dreadful revenge to 
take. 

Gamboge. Any loss of life, Ben ? 

Ben. I don' understan you. 

Gatnboge. Did any one get killed ? 

Ben. Yes, sah, two ob' em. 

Gatnboge. Great Heaven ! speak quick — not your master and 
his wife? 

Ben. Not zackly, sah — Tabby she los' one ob her eyes, and 
Towser he had his tail cut smove off. 



66 Ye Last Sweet Thing in Corners. 

Gamboge. Oh what a relief. Poor cats ! But it might have 
been worse. And it is quite burned to the ground ? 

Ben. Yes, sah, clean gone. 

Dr. Floyd. And no insurance. [Laughing. '\ 

Gamboge. Why then I suppose that is ye last of " Ye Barn Beau- 
tifid. " 

Curtain. 



•f;J- /fV 






The MoMogram Series 



Nearly Ready 



Mrs. Pdlfglois[ ^^dt Some 



n 



